


Gaja

by rusting_roses



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Femme Fatale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusting_roses/pseuds/rusting_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doors to the prison cell slammed open, and a woman in a low-cut scarlet dress that perfectly matched her hair came striding in. Her locks curled around ivory shoulders and a gold necklace, framing a serious face. Her lips, too, matched her hair, drawing the eyes irrevocably to that full mouth, made for sin. Her clear blue-grey eyes glinted even in the dim overhead lighting. Aphrodite wouldn’t have turned her nose up at such a figure or face; if the goddess possessed even a portion of this woman’s beauty and grace, no wonder Paris had given Aphrodite the apple.</p><p>Of course, as far as he could recall, no goddess carried a pair of strappy gold heels in one hand and a gun in the other.</p><p>Huh, Bruce thought woozily as the Hulk roared with frustration and rage at this new threat. Bruce tightened his grip on the Hulk and the cage of anger that contained it, forcing it to yield to him. Bruce had chosen to be here, and had not chosen lightly. This woman would not wrest his control from him. I didn’t know hallucinations were a side effect of this drug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gaja

The doors to the prison cell slammed open, and a woman in a low-cut scarlet dress that perfectly matched her hair came striding in. Her locks curled around ivory shoulders and a gold necklace, framing a serious face. Her lips, too, matched her hair, drawing the eyes irrevocably to that full mouth, made for sin. Her clear blue-grey eyes glinted even in the dim overhead lighting. Aphrodite wouldn’t have turned her nose up at such a figure or face; if the goddess possessed even a portion of this woman’s beauty and grace, no wonder Paris had given Aphrodite the apple.

Of course, as far as he could recall, no goddess carried a pair of strappy gold heels in one hand and a gun in the other.

 _Huh_ , Bruce thought woozily as the Hulk roared with frustration and rage at this new threat. Bruce tightened his grip on the Hulk and the cage of anger that contained it, forcing it to yield to him. Bruce had chosen to be here, and had not chosen lightly. This woman would not wrest his control from him. _I didn’t know hallucinations were a side effect of this drug._

She came over to him, and Bruce’s sensitive nose picked up the scent of lavender and citrus as she knelt next to him, pulling his wrists away from the wall and working on the chains with a pair of lock picks that appeared from nowhere. Well, as a scientist, Bruce knew they had to have appeared from _somewhere_ , but where they could have come from currently escaped him. That was probably for the best, since the gun she carried kept brushing his thigh. The dress the woman wore didn’t help either, as it was decidedly skintight in all of the ways that couldn’t help but appeal to a man. Sensing the hint of lust, the Hulk attempted to capitalize on it, clawing at the seething mass of anger around him.

Bruce jerked his attention back to the Hulk. He closed his eyes and kept them that way, trying not to inhale her perfume too deeply.

A click, and one hand was freed. A second click, seconds later, and the other chain fell to the floor.

Bruce opened his eyes.

The woman smiled, and there was nothing sweet about it; the Hulk, sensing a challenge, surged forward through Bruce’s fractured control, and he knew that his eyes had turned that dangerous, glowing green. 

The woman’s smile grew harder, her eyes too clever, but Bruce could see her pulse in her throat. The Hulk snarled. “No time for that, Dr. Banner, although I’m surprised you didn’t break out of here on your own. Your other half would make quick work of this place, if you let him go.” Whatever she saw in Bruce’s face made her mouth curl in cool amusement. “Perhaps not, then. Well. Your captors will be here in a matter of minutes, and I’d like to be long gone by that time. I’m here to help you escape.” She tilted her head, and hair brushed Bruce’s cheek. They were still so close. Bruce shivered. He’d been sitting too long, and the cold made his limbs ache - as well as his numerous bruises and lacerations. “Let’s go.”

Bruce allowed her to pull him to his feet. “The civilians?” he rasped.

“Being handled,” she said shortly, but not quite so cold.

Bruce wasn’t moving yet, though, and not just because his body protested movement. “Who are you?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, already headed for the next stage of her mission. “Natasha Romanova, agent of SHIELD. Now move, or I’ll leave you here.”

~*~

The door opened before Bruce could even knock, as though they’d been waiting for his arrival. An older gentleman in perhaps his early forties stood on the other side, expression perfectly bland. His tailored suit fit perfectly; he looked like he belonged in an accounting firm’s glossy office, or on Wall Street, rather than in the ancient building that housed SHIELD. “Dr. Banner,” he said, stepping aside so that Bruce could join the briefing. “You’re looking well. Thank you for joining us, we appreciate it.” He shut the door firmly behind him, and Bruce’s hair stood on end.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce deliberately moved towards the table where Agent Romanova sat across from a young man with his feet up on the table. His arms strained at the sleeves of his shirt, corded with muscle. His hands, cradling his skull, bore a number of scars, just like a good part of the rest of his exposed skin.

Agent Romanova sat up straight in her chair, expression neutral, hands folded over one another atop the table. Her hair was the same shade of red as before, still tightly curled, but now it had been pulled away from her face. She never looked up at the man she’d rescued. Bruce swallowed and cast his gaze down.

“Yes, well, I heal quickly,” Bruce replied shortly. “So I figured I ought to hear you out sooner rather than later, since you were so kind as to rescue me and bring me to your medical facility to ensure I hadn’t taken any permanent damage.” As though that was possible, with the Hulk; if he’d been in that much pain, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate enough to contain it. Something about the transformation made his human wounds, at least, heal near-instantly; even without a transformation, Bruce healed far more quickly than a normal human. A curious phenomenon, but not one that Bruce planned to explore in depth.

He took a seat well out of grabbing range of either of the two seated agents, careful to never turn his back on the agent behind him. SHIELD may have rescued him, and had been clear that he was under no obligation to hear their request out, but Bruce had learned more about how the shadier sides of the government worked since his - accident. They might not be able to stop him if he wanted to leave, but there were ways to induce Bruce’s cooperation. Before Agent Romanova had helped him escape, his last set of captors had shown him civilians, beaten and terrified, ready to be used as a defense against the Hulk should Bruce’s control slip for even a moment.

The Hulk didn’t understand mercy.

Bruce clenched his fists in lieu of a shudder. Blood already coated his hands and had soaked deep beneath his skin. He’d rather let them do as they pleased to him than allow more blood to be spilled. Better to hear SHIELD out in at least a pretence of interest before he refused their offer; there was always the slim chance that they might allow him to walk out of here of his own free will if he at least listened to their offer. If they pressed and tried to force his hand, at least this facility was filled with men and women who had willingly signed their lives over to the government. Bruce wouldn’t free the Hulk an instant sooner, not when he knew the damage he might cause to this building and its agents.

“I’m Agent Phil Coulson,” the older man greeted, holding out a hand for Bruce to shake. He smiled, still bland. “I’m going to be running this mission, whether you accept our request for aid or not. I do hope you’ll agree. We could really use your help.” Bruce smiled thinly, and the agent stopped, expression losing its blandness and becoming serious. “I mean it,” he murmured. “No one who does work for SHIELD is forced into it. We believe you are the best person for this job, but you’re not the only one. If you say no, well, we’d rather not take the risk of angering you. As old as this building is, SHIELD isn’t currently in the market for new real estate. It’s too expensive at the moment.” He smiled, thin and wry enough that Bruce cautiously extended his hand to shake Agent Coulson’s.

With a brisk nod Agent Coulson strode to the front, pushing the other man’s feet from the table as he passed. “Sit up straight, Barton,” he snapped and took a seat, handing out a folder to each of them. “If you fall asleep in this meeting, I’m going to take away range access for a month.”

Rather than taking offense, as Bruce expected, Agent Barton grinned. “Aye, aye, captain,” he teased, sloppily saluting. He’d somehow managed to turn Agent Coulson’s push into something graceful as his legs slid to the floor. Agent Coulson’s chin rose, pointedly ignoring the other agent. That only made Agent Barton grin more widely. The corner of Agent Coulson’s mouth might have pulled upwards for the briefest instant, but Bruce couldn’t be sure. Still, Agent Barton settled, flipping open the folder as Agent Romanova did the same. Her fingernails were tinted red with polish, Bruce noticed.

Agent Coulson spoke quietly and crisply, laying out the information in the briefing. “Unlike most folks since the stock market crash, the mob bosses have been making money hand over fist to make up for any losses they might have endured in the crash itself.” He began pointing to pictures of bank vaults and opened safety deposit boxes. “August 19th, 1932. November 6th, 1932. January 3rd, and then January 12th, 1933. Now this, just last week, on May 1st.” He gestured to the most recent set of pictures. “All safety deposit boxes owned by our less savory criminal elements. Frank Costello, Stephanie ‘Queenie’ St. Claire, Willie Moretti, Dutch Shultz, and Arnold Rothstein owned the safety deposits in question. Between the five thus far, we’re looking at easily a few million in jewels, heirlooms, and cash - and not a single real suspect.”

Bruce swallowed and rocked back in his chair. The Hulk’s growl of rage grew until Bruce couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat over it. “No. Oh no. If we’re going against people with that kind of power I don’t want any part - ”

Agent Barton rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair again. He did not put his feet back up on the table. “We’re not going to let them put you into a Chicago overcoat, doc. We just need to borrow your brain for a bit.” He winked. “We promise to return it in one piece.”

Agent Coulson nodded, firm voice cutting through the Hulk’s snarl. “Of course we’re not putting you in immediate danger. We wouldn’t risk a civilian like that - and we certainly wouldn’t risk ah, Mr. Hyde coming to the fore.” Bruce shuddered, and looked down and away. As many people as the mob bosses had killed, Bruce had no interest in being part of that cycle, especially not when it was pointless. Another person would rise to take control of the vices humans so happily indulged in, and Bruce would be stained with fresh blood without having made a difference.

Agent Coulson winced and cleared his throat. “We’re not even working against them, doctor.” His lip curled ever so slightly with disgust. “Actually, we’re working for them, in an attempt to discover how their safety deposit boxes were broken into and who did so. We don’t even know when they were broken into; those dates I mentioned correspond to when the owners of the deposit boxes found them empty. As of today nothing has been recovered, not even on the black market. The reason SHIELD is getting involved is that naturally all these groups suspect each other, or other members of the crime families, and we’re hovering on the brink of a nationwide war between them. We’ve managed to get them to agree to give us some time to work, but once our time runs out...”

Bruce’s hands trembled before he stilled them. No one crossed the crime families and survived - or at least, if they did, it was in another country under an assumed name, praying that nothing gave them away. The reach of the Italian families in particular was strong throughout Europe. If he and SHIELD were working with the criminal underworld, they would probably be one of the first targets if they failed. Bruce had started from scratch more than once. It got no easier. He shuddered at the thought of being forced to do so again. The Hulk slammed itself against Bruce’s cage, against Bruce’s own anger so cunningly against the creature, but Bruce didn’t allow his expression to so much as flicker. “So why am I here?”

“Gamma radiation,” Agent Coulson explained, and gestured for Bruce to pull out a number of graphs containing radiation levels and a slim packet of notes. “One of our agents, during the course of their testing in the vault containing Moretti’s safety deposit box, found that there was a substantial amount of gamma radiation present in the vault. We inspected all of the boxes, but we couldn’t find any source of the radiation, and of course Moretti denied having any radioactive material. We considered it an anomaly, because neither Costello nor St. Claire’s vaults contained significant traces of radioactivity. However, when we ran the tests again at Schultz’s deposit box, we found the gamma radiation again, and also at Rothstein’s.”

“And you think that’s linked to the thief, somehow,” Bruce said, nodding. Despite himself, he curiously scanned the first page of notes, a summary of what Costello claimed had been stolen, with accompanying notes as to the man’s behavior as well as that of his companions. There were also a number of analyses by scientists on SHIELD’s staff about the radiation.

“Hence why we want your help,” Agent Coulson agreed, and Bruce looked up from his study. “As you are the world’s foremost expert in gamma radiation, and one of the leading experts in radiobiology, your expertise may make the difference as to whether we resolve this without bloodshed.”

“Why not use, ah,” Bruce cast his glance over the notes, “your Dr. Simmons? She seems well qualified.”

“Dr. Simmons is more of a biochemist than anything else,” Agent Coulson explained. “Although she has some training in radiobiology, enough to have compiled that report for us, anything additional would require her to first train in the requisite techniques and catch up on the current literature, and then work with her partner, Dr. Fitz, one of our engineers with a considerable knowledge of physics, in order to determine anything useful. Even then, they wouldn’t have your familiarity with the subject matter. Frankly, Dr. Banner, in times like these, they have more than enough projects of their own that are as high priority as this, and I’m loathe to pull them from their research for this mission.”

Bruce couldn’t imagine another project - or multiple ones, for that matter - that could be as important as this. He looked at the papers again, pushing up his glasses as he flipped through the pages, more engrossed this time. The Hulk’s roar of fury dimmed as Bruce inspected the pictures and notes.

After a pause, Agent Coulson continued, “We’d like you to inspect all of the bank vaults, and possibly put together a tracking device that will allow us to pinpoint the location of the source of gamma radiation, in the hopes that it will point us to the correct person, or even the method they’re using to get in and out.” He smiled without an ounce of humor. “The fact that we have no idea how this happened is not sitting well with anyone, as I am sure you can imagine. We need answers quickly, especially considering how little information we have to work with.”

Bruce took a deep breath. “You’re going to be running this mission, Agent Coulson, but what about these two?” He indicated at Agents Barton and Romanova.

“Agent Barton is going to be acting as your protection. Costello already warned us that he won’t allow us to study the vault or his safety deposit boxes again without his personal oversight, and I expect to get demands for the same from the others by the end of the day. Agent Romanova will work as your assistant.” Bruce knew immediately that _protection_ and _assistant_ couldn’t possibly be the only roles they planned to play, but held his tongue. Agent Coulson closed his folder, and stared at Bruce directly. “You would be compensated a dollar an hour, twice that for every hour on weekends. All travel expenses will be paid by SHIELD. In addition, we will do what we can to provide any and all tools you need, or gain you access to said tools - within reason. There are additional benefits, which are all included in the contract.” Agent Coulson’s blue eyes held Bruce’s own. “We will provide the contract, as well as a non-disclosure agreement, when you leave today. You will have tonight to consider our offer. We have provided for your stay tonight in a hotel in the city. If you agree, bring the signed forms with you tomorrow. If you do not, we will provide you transport to any location within five hundred miles of New York City.” A final, slender smile. “As I said, I do hope you will accept. Working with the likes of Costello and the others will not be easy, but it will be worth it to stop the inevitable bloodshed that will result if war starts between the crime families.”

He stood, and nodded briefly, without waiting for Bruce to open his mouth. “Thank you for hearing me out.” Then Agent Coulson left the room, Agent Barton hard on his heels.

That left only Agent Romanova. She faced him, those blue-grey eyes seeing more than Bruce wanted exposed. “I’ll walk you out.” She left, clearly expecting Bruce to follow; he hurried to catch up, briefing folder in hand. Agent Romanova stopped at a clerk’s desk on their way, snapping, “Coulson’s contract,” and seemed only mildly gratified when it was instantly handed over. She passed it along to Bruce, who stacked everything together and held it in his arms.

Bruce pushed up his glasses as they walked, Agent Romanova staring straight ahead. Bruce almost posed a question once or twice, looked at her expression, and thought better of it. Within moments, they stood in front of the exit.

Agent Romanova turned, preparing to go. “Wait!” Bruce called, and then blushed at how loud his voice had sounded. Several people had turned to stare at them. She turned, raising a brow. Bruce took a few steps forward and lowered his voice. “I wanted to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” she dismissed, “I was just doing my job.”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “You were. Thank you.”

Agent Romanova stared at him for an instant, and then her lips quirked in a smile that softened her face. “You’re welcome. I - I’m glad I was able to help you.” The smile disappeared. She nodded at the folder. “The address of your hotel is on the first page of that folder.” Then she turned again and disappeared around the corner, once more composed of perfect grace and strength; not a chink in her armor.

Bruce pushed up his glasses and hurried out, the Hulk quiet for the first time since Bruce could recall.

~*~

“Have you been following me?” Bruce demanded as he sat across from Agent Romanova, tea in one hand and a pastry in the other.

She looked up. “If I were following you, you wouldn’t have seen me,” she replied. “Think of me more as both a warning if you should try to leave with the information we’ve given you, and a way to keep anyone else from getting their hands on that information. It’s quite sensitive, doctor, as I’m sure you’d agree.” She sipped from her coffee cup. “I’ll escort you back to SHIELD to return the paperwork, no matter the decision you make, and then either see you to the train station or begin preparing for our mission.” Agent Romanova smiled finally, too sunny and bright to be real.

He wondered whether the shadow of a smile he’d glimpsed yesterday was real.

Bruce scowled at her, and the Hulk tried to grab hold of Bruce’s vexation as always, use it as a way to break free. Bruce closed his eyes and yanked the tendril free, making sure it returned to the cage of fury Bruce had built to contain the Hulk. Only then did he take a bite of his pastry, aware that someone as sharp as Agent Romanova would have glimpsed his eyes shimmering green before he closed them. He only opened them again when he was sure they’d faded back to their ordinary brown.

“You do that very well.”

Bruce frowned, surprised. She’d sounded almost - approving. “Well, I can’t imagine that the citizens of New York would like to rebuild large portions of the city.” He winced. “Again.” He hadn’t been back to Harlem since his first transformation, but he could imagine the damage still lingered all too clearly. “So yes, I make a point of controlling myself.”

Agent Romanova shrugged. “Most people would have given up the fight, assuming they tried to control such a - a - dangerous individual at all,” she pointed out. “Blonsky did.”

Bruce’s whole body tensed at the name, lip curling and eyes flashing green, hard and pitiless as emeralds as the Hulk watched Agent Romanova out of Bruce’s eyes. The Hulk thought her a curious creature, marginally more interesting than most that Bruce interacted with. “Blonsky, and the men who turned him into that creature,” he murmured, an echo of the Hulk cutting through the ambient noise to drive against the agent’s body, “are the worst kind of humanity.”

Agent Romanova didn’t blanch, but she very quickly drew a handgun from her purse, complete with silencer, and aimed it at Bruce, hiding it with the curves of her body. She signaled across the street. “Blonsky is locked up, and if SHIELD has anything to say about it he’ll never see sunlight again. He was never anything more than a bully boy for General Ross.” Her scathing voice told Bruce exactly what she thought of _that_. “You faced your creation, what you had become, and understood the weight of it. He merely glories in it.” Loathing joined the scorn.

Bruce watched her, unmoving, a hint of a smile on his lips even as his eyes remained Hulk green. The Hulk chortled at the thought that a gun might pose a threat, but approved of this little creature’s determination. Blonsky had cracked under the Hulk’s mighty blows; he almost believed that she would not. She was - brave. Yes. The Hulk growled at the word, tasting it with all its strength. It was a good word. Then both the Hulk and Bruce relaxed all at once, the green fading away. “I’m afraid that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me,” he murmured. “I had to know, you see. Whether you’d be like all the rest.” He sipped at his tea.

Agent Romanova put her gun away, and signaled again across the street again. Bruce smiled humorlessly. Well, they hadn’t shot him; that was honestly more than he’d expected. “SHIELD is made of people,” she told him evenly. “And there are always going to be people who want you to die, or to turn you into a weapon they can use. I’m not one of them.”

“You’re not afraid?”

She smiled, that same razor-thin curl of lip that managed to soften her face, and didn’t answer. Instead she watched him, and Bruce realized she hadn’t inched her chair away, hadn’t leaned back as though that might save her from the Hulk’s reach.

 _Scared,_ muttered the Hulk, sniffing as though Agent Romanova wore her fear like perfume, _but brave_.

Bruce took a deep breath.

“Is that why you saved me? Because you needed me for this?” Bruce tapped the folders in front of him.

“You didn’t need saving,” Agent Romanova murmured. “You could have saved yourself at any point.”

Bruce snorted. “Yes, and risk hundreds of lives in the process, including those of people who had no idea who or what I was and were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The poor, the homeless - there were plenty of both, and few bothered to miss them if it meant the streets were a little cleaner. It made the Hulk bellow, reacting to Bruce’s frustration and turmoil. He battered the iron will that held him in place, striking over and over until Bruce couldn’t decipher the thuds from his own heartbeat. “I wouldn’t have.” Not willingly.

“Even with the civilians, it was only a matter of time before your counterpart emerged, and SHIELD thought it better that we act before they pressed you that far. Additionally, we had no interest in allowing the group who was keeping you to get their hands on substantial amounts of your blood and tissue, which they might use to create something even worse than Blonsky,” Agent Romanova replied briskly. “Which you must have already known, or suspected.”

Bruce shrugged. “What is the saying? Trust, but verify?”

“So you’re trusting SHIELD now?” Agent Romanova asked.

“Not exactly, but I do recognize that you’re probably the lesser of two evils,” Bruce murmured, taking another bite of his pastry. He idly licked some of the icing off; he hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy food like this in a long time. “That doesn’t mean I should rush into choosing any evil at all.”

Agent Romanova gave that strange smile again. The real one that he’d glimpsed at the headquarters. It lit up her face. “Touche.” That made Bruce smile, quick and untouched by the Hulk, who had finally subsided. Bruce could feel his own heartbeat again, without the Hulk’s incandescent fury snapping alongside it and wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Agent Romanova drained her cup, and set it down lightly. The china chinked. Their gazes caught and held. “You’re more than the Hulk.” Bruce fought to break the stare, but Agent Romanova’s eyes were that clear blue-grey of the summer sky with a hint of a storm. Poetry wasn’t Bruce’s forte, but all the same the words surfaced from deep in his mind. “SHIELD would lock you away, if we thought it necessary, and we’d never look back. You think you ran from everything, but you didn’t. How do you think we managed to put together a rescue mission less than twenty-four hours after your kidnapping?” Agent Romanova rose. She seemed to stand far taller than her frame. The sun glinted across her hair. “I don’t know if that counts for anything. I don’t know if it should. That choice was made, though, in part on my recommendation. I stand by it. I don’t expect you to help, Doctor Banner, but I - hope you will.”

Bruce didn’t need the faint pause to know that Agent Romanova did not hope easily. He couldn’t read all her secrets, or even most, but that one a blind man could parse.

 _Scared,_ the Hulk echoed, _but brave._

“I’ll do it.”

~*~

“You know you don’t have to do this.”

Bruce glanced at Coulson. Over the past month of working together on a fairly regular basis, he’d gotten to know the worried expression that just barely creased Coulson’s brow. “No, I don’t. But you said it yourself, time is running short. We don’t have the time to train anyone else to perform the re-calibration of the sensor on the move like I can and we don’t have the time to turn anyone else into an expert on gamma radiation and the associated scientific theory.” Bruce gestured at the building before them. “And if you think you can convince me there isn’t a lab in there, an active one, with these gamma readings? You’re a twit.” Bruce smiled crookedly. “And we both know, Coulson, that you’re no twit. Even if you are a g-man. If you don’t have a scientist around to ask the right kinds of questions, this entire operation will be a bust. Besides, if need be, I at least can protect myself.”

Coulson sighed, shaking his head, but a smile tugged at his own lips. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. You’re going to be well behind the main force. Good thing, too. You’ve been spending far too much time with Barton, if you’ve started using his slang. I need to keep the pair of you away from one another.”

Barton slung an arm around Coulson’s shoulders. “Bullshit! We all know you’re far quicker on the uptake than you let on, and you’re definitely no Joe, g-man,” he said cheerfully. “So let’s get a little hoo-ha started to give these baddies the run-around and make sure they end up in the big house!”

An expression of long-suffering crossed Coulson’s face. “I understood all that,” he murmured, a mournful tone creeping into his voice. “Natasha, when did I learn all that?” Bruce noticed that Coulson didn’t push Barton’s arm off his shoulders, though, and in fact placed a hand at the small of Barton’s back so that their sides aligned perfectly.

Barton winked at Bruce. “Oh, hush,” he complained. “You knew all of that long before you tracked me down. You just like to pretend that you’re ten years older than you actually are. If you call me a whipper-snapper though, all bets are off. I’m going to use you for target practice.”

“I dare you to try.”

Natasha laughed at them both as she strapped various weapons across her body. She clearly trusted these two men, as she only expressed herself so freely among those she knew would not hold it against her. Bruce was quietly pleased that he was granted even this much. “Come on, it’s time for us to go.” She stood and stretched, the dark leather hugging every curve. “We need to make sure the rest of the team is assembled and get into place.” They headed out together, Bruce at the back.

Bruce didn’t involve himself with this aspect of the missions; he largely went where instructed, and tried not to end up accidentally shot - not out of any fear for himself, but for the shooter.

The Hulk _really_ didn’t like guns.

At long last, just as Bruce started to get jittery, Coulson gave them their final mission parameters and triple checked that everyone was in place. Then he joined Romanova, Barton, and Bruce, holding a pistol easily in his grip. Romanova also had a handgun, but Barton had his bow and arrows. “Carny to the bone,” he mouthed with a wink at Bruce that made him hide a smile.

“Dr. Banner, you’re going to stay behind the defensive lines,” Coulson murmured as they moved forward through the trees. They could see the guards with machine guns in their hands on the outer wall. Bruce’s heart beat triple time. “Agent Romanova is going to stay with you, and Agent Barton and I are going to ensure that you have a clear path. Ready in three, two, one.”

He raised a hand and gestured.

Everyone moved forward on his signal, and Bruce could not turn back.

Though Bruce hadn’t been properly religious in years he found himself frantically praying to God to get through this in one piece. Bruce knew logically that SHIELD had quietly killed the guards and continued to move forward in near-silence, but his sharp ears could hear each and every dying gasp, every crackle of the leaves and sticks beneath his feet, and his hands shook. He was half-convinced that they would be discovered at any moment, and fear and fury twined tightly around one another. He focused that terrified anger, and used it to reinforce the cage around the Hulk. If there was any time when Bruce could not afford to lose control, it was this.

They got to the back doors without losing a single man from their SHIELD team, and though they’d deliberately aimed for the middle of the shift when the guards would be most lax, and their relief still far off, everyone knew it was only be a matter of time before someone noticed that something had gone awry - probably well ahead of schedule, too. SHIELD, at least, did not believe in missions going off without a hitch, and planned accordingly. Coulson glanced at his watch, and held up his hand. He pressed a tiny piece of plastic explosive into the lock, hooked it up, and gestured them all to move back. He waited perhaps thirty seconds, every second lasting an eternity, and then their distraction started - an enormous explosion that rocked the entire complex. The sky to their left almost immediately lit up with flames.

Coulson took a few extra steps forward and then triggered his plastic explosive, and the door lock blew apart. Then Coulson stood to the side, gesturing for everyone else to stand out of the direct line of the door, and opened it.

Gunfire erupted, and Bruce strangled a cry of surprise - not that anyone would have heard it beneath the bullets.

Barton drew his bow back, and loosed an arrow at an angle. Somehow, incredibly, it rebounded off the wall and a guttural cry was choked off. The gunfire stopped, and Barton glanced around the inside of the door. “Dead, and only one gunman” he confirmed. They moved forward through the door, Coulson and Barton still at the front, then four more SHIELD agents, and finally Romanova and Bruce at the rear.

Romanova was absolutely silent beside Bruce, guarding their back while Barton and Coulson moved forward at the lead, giving instructions with crisp hand signals to the rest of their team, occasionally glancing at Bruce to give them directions. Bruce tried to focus more on the tracker he’d modified from Hans Geiger and Walter Müller’s work than their surroundings, lest he start jumping at every shadow. Closed doors in particular left him quivering with the need to be far, far away from here.

He had _chosen_ this, he reminded himself over and over. _Coulson told you that you could stay back, that you didn’t have to do this. They could have handled this alone, and you could have come by only when it was safe, but no, you said you wanted to do this. You had all sorts of logical reasons why it had to be sooner before later. Where is the safety of that reasoning now?_

Bruce had to settle for being thankful that Romanova stood so close. She moved in absolute silence and the shadows made her most ghost than human. If anyone could be trusted to keep the enemy from attacking their unprotected backs, it was Romanova.

Except, as it happened, from fire.

When the sudden wall of flames blazed between them and the rest of the team, and Bruce yelped, stumbling a step back. He’d have fallen, but Romanova caught him as the towering, searing flames threatened to consume them. “What on _Earth!_ ” Bruce shouted, eyes blazing green as they hurriedly backed off before their skin began to blister. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden light. Spots danced in front of his eyes.

Romanova shook her head, trying to clear her own gaze. “Don’t!” she called over the roar of fire. “We’ve got to - ”

She turned abruptly and shot the man trying to sneak up on them, pushing Bruce behind her as her foot came out to knock the machine gun from his grip. Although one man had fallen, three dozen more came streaming forward in his wake, each with their own machine gun pointed right at them. Romanova edged a step back. Bruce could feel the flames blazing along his spine, making his skin feel tight and stretched. He hadn’t been given a weapon, but he didn’t need one. He took a deep breath, tasting smoke at the back of his tongue, and let the anger surge. His eyes went a shade of impossible green, muscles starting to bulge at the seams of his clothing. _Don’t hurt Agent Romanova, okay? She’s a friend. She’s been nothing but good to us. She’ll help you. I promise. Don’t hurt anyone who doesn’t hurt you, please._ Bruce didn’t know if the Hulk would listen, but he had to try. Romanova grabbed Bruce’s arm and tugged him forward so they were half-entwined.

“Listen!” she hissed before he could say anything. Bruce’s mouth hung open in surprise. “No transforming. Don’t even think about it. You control the Hulk, not the other way around, and I need you to lock him away for a little while longer. They’re probably going to hurt me, alright? I’m the easy target. Let them. I can handle it. Trust me. Don’t let him go until I say ‘Green’. I know what I’m doing. I will keep you safe, no matter what.” She held his gaze for a split second and Bruce nodded automatically. Somehow, he’d fallen into the habit of trusting her, Barton, and Coulson. She relaxed and let go of him. Then she dropped her gun to the floor and kicked it out of her reach, hands up.

“We surrender.”

One of the men, with dark brown hair, pale blue eyes, and swarthy skin stepped forward from the back of the group of armed thugs. His hands were empty except for a small metal rune that looked Norse. He held it up in front of his mouth and blew a long breath that brushed by Bruce’s skin, shockingly cold in comparison to the fire - and the fire at their backs died. Not a modified flamethrower, then. “Don’t move.” He sounded bored, a light accent touching his voice. Bruce could have sworn he saw frost glint on the rune, but he knew that couldn’t be possible. Then again, he’d have said a single breath to blow out that fire as though it were a candle was impossible too. “I’d hate to have to riddle you with bullet holes you before the Trickster gets a chance to speak with you, but la, if needs must, he’d understand.” 

He gestured to the armed thugs at his side. “Bind them, please. Make sure you use the Beast’s cuff on him. You know where to leave them. I’ll interrogate them before the Trickster arrives, see what juicy tidbits they have to offer. He hates to get his hands dirty, you see, unless there’s no other choice.” He smiled at them impishly. “Now to deal with your companions.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered off down the hallway, unrushed, while the men he left behind sprang into action.

Bruce risked a glance over his shoulder; the hall was empty. Not a scorch mark stained the walls, and the rest of the SHIELD team, Coulson and Barton included, had disappeared. He swallowed but didn’t dare open his mouth.

Romanova caught his glance as the men surrounded him and began shackling them. She shook her head once, managing to make it look like she was merely turning away from a too-tight grip on her hair. Don’t speak. Don’t transform. Don’t fight. Don’t let the Hulk go.

_Trust me, I know what I’m doing._

Bruce held tight to the Hulk, roaring and thrashing and bellowing its desire to rend these creatures who dared to raise their hand against it. It would crush them, spill their blood, and protect the weak little human who thought he could bind the Hulk forever. Trembling, frightened and enraged and barely daring to breathe, Bruce hoped against all reason that betrayal didn’t wait for him.

~*~

“Doctor Banner, are you alright?” They’d been chained up as far away from one another as possible in the room, their voices echoing off the steel and concrete box. Bruce shifted, trying to ease some of his discomfort as his muscles and joints twitched and strained in protest. While Romanova had been chained fairly simply, with manacles around her wrist stringing her up towards the ceiling, Bruce had been bound head to toe in heavy chains that glimmered with more light than ought to be possible in this poorly-lit room. “Doctor?”

Bruce glanced up, licking his bloodied lip; the guards hadn’t stinted on dealing either of them blows as they’d chained them, and the bottom half of Romanova’s face was a mass of blood. They’d broken her nose, and despite her best efforts she could do nothing to stem the flow. Other than that, Bruce couldn’t see any places where Romanova held herself carefully; he couldn’t tell if her even, clear expression hid pain. “I’m fine,” he dismissed. “Once, ah, my green friend appears, it’ll be nothing at all.” He smiled, even though it made the wounds on his lip and the insides of his cheeks where he’d cut flesh open with his own teeth pull. “I promise.” He took a deep breath. “I trust you. I meant it, out there. I do. And I’ll do everything to keep the other guy from hurting you. If you’re going to keep me safe, I’m going to return the favor as best as I can.”

Romanova blinked, and - and she _blushed._ Bruce stared with fascination as her cheeks pinked, raw and open, here of all places. “Thank you,” she said, somewhat stiffly, but this once Bruce could see the awkwardness and uncertainty for what it was. He smiled at her, again, feeling it blaze from his lips through his mouth and right down to the base of his ribs.

“You’re welcome. You should call me Bruce, by the way. I figure once you’ve been roughed up a little and left to wait for the interrogator together, titles don’t matter quite as much.” Bruce could just manage to rest against the concrete wall at his back. He shivered a little and tried not to think of their chances of rescue; the Hulk wanted to wreck this concrete prison so badly that Bruce shook with it by proxy. _Wait,_ he whispered over and over. _Wait. We promised._

“Only if you call me Natasha.”

Bruce’s dark eyes, touched by green, focused on her bright ones. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” she corrected. “But I much prefer Natasha.”

“My first name is Robert,” Bruce offered. “Technically, Bruce is my middle name. I much prefer Bruce.”

That made Natasha smile, that same soft smile Bruce loved to catch glimpses of; even beneath the drying blood, he liked the way it curved on her face. “We do have a SHIELD file on you,” she replied, voice quiet and light.

Bruce snorted. “I figured. Of all the people who have a file on me, though, you’re probably the least terrifying option.”

“I aim to please.”

A laugh shook Bruce. “No, you don’t,” he replied, meeting her gaze again.

Her eyes glinted with laughter of her own. “No,” she agreed, “I don’t.”

Bruce shifted and licked his lips again, tasting more blood. The Hulk would smash every puny being who stood in its -

\- in _his_ way, except the one who watched the Hulk with tempered steel in her eyes. _Friend,_ Bruce repeated emphatically. The Hulk didn’t have friends, didn’t see the use for beings that could not be smashed, but the woman, the brave one, the Hulk had seen her smash things before, almost as good as the Hulk could smash them. _Wait. We have to wait for her to give us the signal, and then I’ll let you go. I promise._

The jailor had never promised any such thing before. He always promised to hold the Hulk no matter what, to keep him locked away until they both died. He promised things that made the Hulk rail.

The jailor had never promised freedom before, only a smaller, stronger cage.

The Hulk could wait for a little while longer.

Bruce opened his eyes, unaware he’d even closed them. “So now what?”

Natasha’s head snapped to face the door. “Now you trust that I can handle whatever they put me through, no matter how much I scream or protest or beg, until I can get the information we need about what’s going on here. This might be our only opportunity to find out anything useful, and I’m not going to give it up. I’m afraid you’re going to have to endure it when I - ” She stopped speaking as the door opened, relaxing along her spine. Bruce had seen Natasha fight before, had seen it for the work of art she alone managed to make it; though she bowed her head and leaned as far away as she could from their captors, her core was centered. Natasha was ready for a fight.

Despite Natasha’s instructions Bruce tensed, warily watching the man who’d been handing out orders come further into the room. He carried a tray on one hip, piled with a number of implements that made Bruce’s skin crawl with horror. The Hulk snarled for the chance to crush the offender, but Bruce had told Natasha he trusted her. He wouldn’t break his word, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. The worst part was that she was right. They needed whatever information they could gather.

“The Black Widow, sitting here in my grasp, and I didn’t have to lift a finger to do it,” he sighed, ignoring Bruce to focus on Natasha. “The queen of the Red Room and Drakov’s daughter. I’m simply overcome.” He bowed mockingly.

Brief shock and fear flashed over Natasha’s face before it was hidden away again. The man smiled slowly. “Yes, I wish I could take the credit for knowing that, but, well, that’s all the Trickster’s doing. There are no secrets from him.” A faint twist to his mouth accompanied his words. “He said you’d be coming, along with another most interesting prize.” His gaze shifted to Bruce’s prone form, and he smiled, slow and humorless. “The Beast who plays at being a man, chained up for our entertainment. I’m actually quite impressed. I suppose the saying is true. Good things do come in small packages. You won’t be getting out of those chains until I let you out, not even with that creature’s help. They were made specially for you, and you will not be released until the Trickster comes to deal with you personally.”

Bruce shivered, automatically shifting in the heavy chains to test their strength, and that dark smile broadened. The chains didn’t seem to be anything more than heavy steel, which wouldn’t slow the Hulk down in the least. Still, Bruce couldn’t help but remember the rune the man had held to his lips, and the ice it created. “Now, since I hate to be rude, allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Fenrir, and I am going to hurt you quite severely if you don’t agree to give the Trickster what he desires.”

“And that is?” Natasha spat, scowling furiously at him.

“Why, your obedience and support in his machinations, of course,” Fenrir replied, as though it were obvious. “He would have to ensure that you were loyal to him at first, of course, but once you prove yourselves worthy, I assure you that the Black Widow and the Beast would be most welcome.”

Natasha smiled thinly. “Agent Romanova, serial number 5474892.”

Fenrir glanced to Bruce; his heart pounded, but he made himself speak. “Dr. Banner. I don’t have a serial number. Sorry.”

Fenrir sighed. “Very well then.” He picked up a short, thin switch and removed Natasha’s boots and socks, leaving her feet curiously pale and bare in the dim room. Returning to the door he dragged a table inside; old, dried blood covered the surface. Fenrir pulled Natasha’s legs up onto the table so that she was sitting on it, feet facing Fenrir. The chains weren’t lowered, and Natasha visibly strained upwards to keep the pressure to a minimum even as she fought Fenrir’s hold. Without any leverage, however, she was strapped down to the table from hips to ankles, now as trapped as Bruce. Bruce yanked forward on the chains, but they held him firm. Bruce knew his eyes were glowing a poisonous shade of green.

“Don’t touch her!” Bruce snarled, an echo of the Hulk lacing his words. Natasha glanced at him, then away again; there was nothing on her face for Bruce to read except stoic resignation.

“Ah, Beast, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Fenrir gloated. “You’re stuck with my hospitality, just as the lovely Black Widow is.” He stroked a fingertip over the arch of Natasha’s foot. “Did she tell you who she really is, Beast? Black Widow, the premiere assassin of the Red Room, and now of SHIELD. She was sent to kill you, Beast, did you know that? You, and a hundred other monsters just like you. Even I can admit they were monsters, not just here in the states, but across the world. They were, shall we say, unconscionably messy when it came to collateral damage and the like. They were...wasteful.” Bruce held completely still, not letting his expression change, but clearly Fenrir had already known the answer before he’d even asked the question. “Of course she didn’t tell you. Well. Perhaps once I’ve got her screaming her secrets, you’ll find my offer a much more pleasant alternative than whatever she might offer you.” Fenrir hadn’t once stopped stroking Natasha’s feet, and Bruce’s skin began crawling and refused to stop.

Bruce hadn’t seen Fenrir palm the switch again, but Natasha’s eyes suddenly widened and the crack of the wood against skin made her jerk, a sound strangling in her throat. Bruce fought to get free of his chains instinctively, the Hulk roaring to be let out now. Bruce held Natasha’s eyes for a moment, though, and caught the warning in them. He turned his face away. He wasn’t so strong that he could watch Natasha be tortured and not release the Hulk. Instead, he shuddered at the sound of every strike, at every sound torn from Natasha’s throat, and shouted, You have to wait! over and over at the Hulk, clinging to him to keep him from bursting free and protecting Natasha.

He trusted her. He trusted she knew what she was doing, that this would be - somehow, worth it. That she had made the right choice in sacrificing her body.

Silence, finally. Bruce trembled in the wake of it, and glanced up.

Natasha’s brow was sweat-soaked, her hair in disarray and sticking to her skin. Her arms and shoulders had already started to tremble a little with fatigue; the chains holding her up clanking in the sudden quiet. Her breathing, too, cut across the room, rough and heavy.

Her feet were a mass of welts, blood beading in places and rolling slowly down her skin.

“I know it’s too early in the game for you to have reconsidered my offer,” Fenrir said companionably as he set down the cane and regarded Natasha with hunger. “But I feel I ought to offer it nevertheless.” Fenrir turned and smiled at Bruce. “What about you, Beast? You could save this lovely lady from a lot of pain if you cooperated with me. The Trickster realizes that familial blood is important, of course, but he knows that there are far more important drives that might command a man’s loyalty. He also knows that greed alone isn’t the most enduring motivator.”

“And you think you can understand the Hulk?” Natasha scoffed, voice rasping but clear. “He’s the mindless beast you call him; how could you possibly tempt a creature like that?” Hidden deeply below the derision was a tiny bead of fear. Bruce shared it. If Fenrir and the mysterious Trickster had the kind of power the Norse rune Fenrir had used seemed to indicate, Bruce and Natasha alike might be far outclassed.

“Ah, my dear Black Widow, you’ve seen but a trace of the power the Trickster possesses.” He rummaged in his pocket, producing the same rune he’d grasped earlier. Holding it in front of his lips again, he blew hard and a swirl of icy cold wind lashed out at the back wall. Frost slammed into steel and concrete, and lacy fingers of ice grew in a blink. Bruce stared, heart hammering in his chest. “See? He created it for me, when we laid that trap for you and yours. Oh, speaking of - don’t look for rescue from that quarter. They’re all dead. They aren’t nearly so interesting as you two.”

Coulson and Barton - dead? No. They couldn’t be; as a team, even without Natasha to stand with them, they were far more dangerous foes than their appearance suggested. Bruce couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t; without proof, Fenrir could be easily just trying to convince them to give in. Dead loved ones had a way of crawling beneath one’s skin, Bruce knew well. Still, the doubt had been planted, and Fenrir licked his lips, pleased, while Bruce fought the shout that was building. He refused to give Fenrir the satisfaction of demanding answers - especially not when they would probably be more lies.

_God in Heaven, please let Fenrir be lying._

Fenrir pocketed the rune and turned back towards them, moving casually. He lashed out with his foot as he walked, nailing Bruce in the side of the head. Bruce bit right through his lip, another pain. The whole left side of his face throbbed with every heartbeat, and Bruce heard an embarrassingly pathetic whimper leave his blood-coated lips.

The Hulk took the opening.

“Bruce!” Natasha shouted. The Hulk lifted green eyes to hers, muscles straining to get past the weak man’s skin and the chains that bound them. The chains were too strong, too heavy, like nothing the Hulk had ever faced. They started to give just the littlest amount at his struggles, and the smile that crossed the Hulk’s face promised pure destruction. “Hulk - stop. Please. Please, it’ll be okay.” She held his gaze, unflinching.

“Yes, please don’t transform, Beast,” Fenrir agreed, holding a blade to Natasha’s throat. “Not how I’d like to kill the infamous Black Widow, given my druthers - and yet, la.” He pressed in just a little, and fresh blood welled. “If needs must.”

The Hulk subsided. Bruce gasped, head bowed.

Why had the Hulk listened to her?

Why did she stop him, even now?

“Good boy. It seems the Beast can, in fact, be trained. How’s that for understanding him?” Fenrir goaded, those hungry blue eyes watching them both. “Every creature has a weak point. To be fair, I hadn’t expected you to be his,” he added to Natasha. “Then again, I hadn’t thought you capable of loving - or the Beast of being loved. _Such_ an annoyance, isn’t it?”

“Love,” Natasha gritted out, “is for children.” She smiled, twisted and defiant. “We’re both just in the process of wiping some red out of our ledgers.”

Fenrir shrugged. “If that’s your goal, the Trickster can help you with that.” He slid the knife across Natasha’s throat, down to the hollow at the base of her throat, then pulled it away. “Now, I’ve some questions for you, ones that I hope you will answer. If not, well, you’ll get more of the earlier treatment. Or the Beast will.” He shrugged again, as though either option might please him. “I won’t be offering you a spot in our ranks for too much longer. Now.” He dug his nails into Natasha’s abused feet, and she cried out through gritted teeth. “I think we ought to start with some very sensitive information from SHIELD. They’ve been a thorn in our sides, for all they didn’t realize who they raised their hand against. Charles Solomon must have been very naughty to get on your radar - and you got to him before we did.” Fenrir clucked his teeth. “And then to make it look like two of our own boys, John Burke and James Coyne! You were just as naughty as Solomon. Do tell me about Solomon’s narcotics.”

Another vicious smile crossed Natasha’s face. “Burke and Coyne were your men? No wonder they were so easy to set up. Three men made obsolete. Not bad for a day’s work.”

Fenrir laughed, as cruel as Natasha’s smile as he played with another implement from the tray he’d carried in. Bruce wanted to cry out, but - no - no - _no_ \- he’d _promised._ “You know, they weren’t that good as arms smugglers anyways, and they were only in for the gambling business. Too bad they lost one bet too many before going to the Trickster. Greed, Black Widow, is still a wonderful incentive.”

Natasha turned her face away, but Bruce saw the glimmer of something in Natasha’s eyes.

Victory.

Bruce replayed what Fenrir had said, and - “They were only in for the gambling business. Too bad they lost one bet too many before going to the Trickster.” So when had they gambled, and with whom, to lose so much that they’d wound up in debt to someone as powerful as the Trickster? At long last, Bruce realized the depth of Natasha’s game.

She wasn’t being interrogated.

 _Fenrir_ was.

Enduring the next few hours left Bruce shaking with horror that surpassed anything he’d faced. Even the experiments performed on his own flesh hadn’t left him vomiting onto his own feet the way he did when the thick scent of burned flesh and hair carried to Bruce’s nose. If it were not for Natasha’s steely endurance, the way she played Fenrir over and over, coaxing out information that might mean the difference between a nation-wide gang war and more tremulous peace, Bruce could not have borne it at all.

Then, finally, they were left alone.

“I’m fine,” Natasha whispered after Fenrir had been gone for a few long moments. “I am.” Her voice was raw from screaming. The smell of burnt flesh and the iron tang of blood still made every one of Bruce’s nerves strain to be closer. “I’m alright. I’m alright.” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself, rather than Bruce.

“I can get us out of here,” he begged. “Please. No more, surely you’ve got enough information.” He yanked at the chains binding him. “Please, the Hulk will protect you. I swear.” He managed a smile that faded quickly. “Please. How can you - how do you - I - ” He stopped and turned his face away, ashamed. “I’m sorry. All I can do is hold onto him for you, but I can’t even do that well, this is wrong, no one should put themselves through this, but…”

“Elephants.”

“I - What?”

“Elephants. I saw an elephant once, as a child, after a mission for the Red Room. She was young, and looked so sad in the dingy little circus that claimed her as their chief animal attraction. I could see her ribs, and after the performance, I snuck out to feed her. Her name was Elizabeth. I gave her hay, and some of the chocolate I’d stolen. I’d never tasted chocolate before, but one of the scientists had eaten it while they operated on me, once. It smelled delicious, and I’d always wanted a taste. It probably wasn’t good for her, the chocolate, but I thought...” Natasha shrugged, blue-grey eyes turned dull and tired. Clouded over. They were red-rimmed from crying, too, and Bruce’s throat tightened. “I thought she deserved a treat, after watching how her trainer whipped her. Her hip was still bloody. I - they didn’t train me to heal things. Just hurt them. So I wiped away some of the blood, and tried to put a bandage over it. I couldn’t, she was too big, too wary - she didn’t trust me at all. They found me there, the Red Room, and made me watch as they killed her. I’d disobeyed the order to come right back, you see, because I was still young enough then to be curious about the world around me. About things like chocolate, and elephants.”

Bruce’s heart clenched in his chest. “Natasha,” he breathed.

“Nothing has ever hurt like that,” she murmured. “So long as it doesn’t hurt like that, I’ll be fine.”

Bruce wanted to hold Natasha close, wanted to demand more answers, wanted - wanted her to finally let the Hulk go.

No one would hurt her like that, not ever again.

Natasha sighed, another few tears rolling down her cheeks while Bruce wept in awful empathy. “Green,” she finally whispered.

Not even the Trickster’s chains could stop the Hulk, not when they stood between him and Natasha.

~*~

“Hey,” Bruce said softly from the doorway of Natasha’s hospital room. “How are you feeling?” He leaned against the frame, relieved all over again when he saw Natasha look up with a smile.

Clint - he’d insisted on Clint after the Hulk literally tore their prison apart and carried him and Phil out, and Bruce had insisted on Bruce in return, once he’d un-transformed - stood from his chair. He’d been hidden behind the open door, and Bruce jumped. Clint leered at them both. “Yo,” he greeted. “Don’t worry, I was leaving, I promise.” His leer turned into a full grin. “I’m headed to see Phil next anyways. They won’t let him out of traction for another week so I need to go keep him from threatening the doctors or nurses with escape.”

“He’s not the one who would terrorize the med staff, Clint, that’s you,” Natasha murmured, rolling her eyes. “Tell him I said hi. They’ll let me out in the next day or two, since I’m healing fine. I’ll stop by to see him as soon as I can.” She sat up, wincing only a little. Still, the fact that she’d winced at all meant she was in serious pain. Bruce hurried to put some pillows beneath her back so she could relax.

Clint laughed. “And that’s my cue.” He wiggled his fingers in their direction, and slouched out, calling, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” over his shoulder.

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do, Barton!” Natasha retorted.

Clint stuck his head back around the edge of the door. “Precisely!” Then he was off, his laughter echoing through the hall. Bruce hid a smile behind his hand.

Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled and patted the covers next to her. Bruce sat cautiously on the edge of Natasha’s bed. “How are you feeling?” he repeated.

“I’m alright. The stitches will be taken out tomorrow, and after that it’s just waiting for the bruises to fade and the burns to heal.” Natasha shrugged her shoulder, and an errant curl fell over her shoulder, laying across the curve of her breast. Bruce daringly tucked it back, and Natasha smiled at him. Bruce - and the Hulk - smiled back. She gestured with the hand in the cast. “And soon enough this will be off too. It’ll take another couple to heal, but they don’t have a reason to keep me around once the stitches are out. So I’ll be free at last, and only a little more dinged up that before.” She shrugged. “I heal quickly, so I’ll be ready to work again in a month, maybe a little longer.”

“Yeah.” Bruce fidgeted a little, clearing his throat. “I’m glad you’re healing, Natasha. That you’ll be fine.” He took her hand, squeezed it, and then let it go again, feeling awkward and uncertain.

Natasha gestured to the folder in Bruce’s lap. “You want to tell me what that’s about?”

“Oh! Yes. Uh. Yes. I do.” The folder slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. He hastily picked up the papers inside, muttering and cursing under his breath. “Sorry, I - you don’t have to, or anything, but I was just thinking that it might be nice, since I’ve been to India. I mean, of course I’ve been to India, you know that, you probably tracked me there and everything.” He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head and calm his tongue.

Natasha took his hand, squeezed it, and this time she didn’t let it go. “Yes, I knew you spent time in India, and I did spend some time there following you,” she said. Her throat had healed, and her voice was as soft and smooth as ever. It made the Hulk almost restful, listening to that voice. Bruce stared at their joined hands for a long moment, where her slender fingers rested in his clumsy palm. “What about India?”

“There are elephants there. In India, they’re prized, because the Hindu god, Indra, rode the white elephant Airavata into battle as a steed against Vrita. Vrita had kept all the waters captive, so Indra rode Airavata to free them. Airavata is the king of all elephants, and is responsible for turning the waters of the underworld into rain. So, you see, he is not merely a beast of burden. He is - known. And he is loved, as all elephants are loved.”

Bruce’s heart beat fast. He could see Natasha’s pulse beating too, quick and hard beneath creamy skin. He found the courage to continue.

“So I thought - like I said, if you wanted, and _only_ if you wanted, I thought you might like to go see them, where they belong. Strong, and free. I know some of India, especially around Kolkata, and I speak Hindi and know enough Urdu to get by, and read Sanskrit, so I could act as guide, if you wanted. And perhaps we could meet them. The elephants. I’d like that, if you would. Even if you don’t, I got you an extra ticket, so that you’d be able to go with someone if you wanted. Clint or Phil. And if you wanted to go alone, with no one at all - that’s fine too.”

Natasha rubbed her thumb across the back of Bruce’s hand, slow and rhythmic. It kept Bruce calm, kept the Hulk quiet and contemplative. Natasha’s touch was - good. Soft and kind and good.

“To see an elephant. To truly see an elephant,” Natasha whispered. “You would join me, to see them?”

“If you wanted.”

Natasha brought their lips together in a slow, hot kiss that robbed Bruce of breath. He kissed back, eager, tilting his head slightly to deepen it. Natasha’s lips parted, and Bruce tasted the clinical coldness of the hospital, and beneath that, something the sharp-sweetness of candied ginger. Only when she’d robbed Bruce of breath did Natasha pull away.

Natasha still looked battered, and her nose would always have a tiny lump from being broken, and she had a new network of wounds on her lithe form.

Bruce would never willingly stop kissing her. She smiled, and did not even try to hide the swift upwelling of joy. Their hands were still tangled together.

“I want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Three friends gave me three plot points: Natasha/Bruce, film noir, and elephants. This is the fic that resulted. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, as a note: Gaja/Gazaa (a Sanskrit word for elephant) is one of the significant animals with references in Hindu scriptures and Buddhist and Jain texts. In general, a gaja personifies a number of positive attributes, including abundance, fertility and richness; boldness and strength; and wisdom and royalty. In European Portuguese, it means "physically attractive female"; its origin in the Portuguese language can be related to a personification of fertility.


End file.
